


Moving the Goalposts

by louis_quatorze



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-12
Updated: 2010-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louis_quatorze/pseuds/louis_quatorze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Pavel Chekov is the most expensive teenager in world football, having just signed for Chelsea. Hikaru Sulu is a striker for the San Jose Earthquakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving the Goalposts

It's the biggest story in the European press, the transfer of a 17-year-old midfield prodigy from Dinamo Moscow to Chelsea FC for a record fee for someone his age. It's even made the papers around the Bay Area, if only because Chelsea are set for a friendly game in San Francisco and they want it to sell well. The biggest teenager in world football is just another selling point, enough to get a few lines on the third page of the sports section.

It's more than the Earthquakes ever get, not that Hikaru is bitter or anything. He's used to it by now. He's happy enough that there's a place for him to play. If he'd been born twenty, fifteen years earlier, he wouldn't have that.

The papers say the kid will be traveling to San Francisco for the friendly.

Hikaru deliberately doesn't think about how his transfer fee could pay for his entire club.

* * * * *

They train in the afternoon, after Chelsea has come and gone. They'll get their introductions later, maybe a shirt if they're lucky. Their manager has told them not to think about that. They're just opponents: they shouldn't be starstruck just because Chelsea are one of the world's major teams and full of superstars. It's a losing battle and they all know it. He has to say it, though.

There were fans watching Chelsea train but they've all scattered now. Hikaru sees just a lone figure leaning against the fence. He's not bitter, not really. That's just how it is. He likes to think that someday he'll be one of those famous guys, but right now this is all he has.

As he approaches the fence, doing his drills, he realizes that it isn't some fan. It's that kid, that Russian. The prodigy. Pavel Chekov. He's watching the training like he didn't already spend the morning training with what Hikaru is sure are the world's best coaches. None of the other players have bothered to stick around for them. It's…odd, Hikaru would say. Some of the boys watched Chelsea practice, but that's to be expected.

"You're Pavel Chekov," he says to the boy as practice finishes.

"I am!" he chirps, looking pleased and flattered that he was recognized. "Hello. I hope you are not minding I am watching."

"Oh, no, it's perfectly fine."

"Good!" The kid smiles, bright and blinding. He's got curly hair and eager eyes. "I am not wanting to spy. I am never to America before, I wanted to see."

"Why?" It comes out of Hikaru's mouth before he can stop it. "I mean…why watch our training? It's nothing special…"

Pavel cocks his head curiously. "I want to see all the different trainings. And American players, they are very fit, run a lot, work hard. I want to see how Americans train, da?"

"Learn anything?" Hikaru can't help but be charmed by that. He isn't used to hearing anything good about American footballers.

"I think, yes." Pavel nods. "The…running." He makes a gesture with his hands, frowning. "I am sorry, my English…"

"It's really good," Hikaru says with a grin. "Really."

"Thank you!" Pavel is almost bouncing. "I study many years. I want to talk to the boss, and press, and people. I work hard, I think."

"Pays off," Hikaru says. He smiles a little at Pavel's confused look. "When you work hard and you succeed. It pays off."

"Ahh." Pavel grins. "I am not so good yet with idioms."

"Don't listen to me, you'll learn all the wrong ones." Hikaru laughs, looking out as his teammates head into the locker room. "Looks like we're done here…"

"Oh! I should call…"

"Someone picking you up?"

Pavel nods. "I am to call him when I am done. I wait until he comes from San Francisco."

"All the way from there?" Hikaru bites his lip and looks out at the parking lot. "It'll be a while until they can get back here. Do you want a ride? I live down there, so…"

"Would you?" Pavel looks delighted.

"Sure. Just let me have a shower, you don't want to be stuck in a car with me if I don't…"

"I wait here, yes?"

"Yep." Hikaru grins at him and jogs towards the dressing room. It's weird to think that he's about to give one of the world's biggest sports stars a ride home in his Hyundai. But he's a nice kid, much more down to earth than Hikaru would expect, and Hikaru wants to spend more time with him. He has a lot of questions. He's not sure he'll get a chance to actually ask them.

Pavel is waiting by the fence when he emerges, just as he said he would, holding his hands in front of his body. He looks remarkably young and unassuming. "Ready to go?" Hikaru calls.

"Yes!" He beams and trots after Hikaru.

"It's not much," Hikaru says apologetically as he unlocks his car. "I'm sure you've got something much better in London."

"I do not yet drive," Pavel says sheepishly. "I have no car."

"Well, you'll see nice ones when you get back. I bet your teammates have some amazing rides." Hikaru can't keep the jealousy out of his voice. He's always wanted one of those kind of cars. He's seen pictures of footballers' cars on the blogs and it's stupid, but it makes him want to work twice as hard just to be able to drive one. He hasn't told anyone about that.

"Yes!" Pavel giggles. "I am wanting to pass the test very bad. I am to buy an Aston Martin."

"Really?"

"Yes! Like James Bond." Pavel grins. "They are beautiful cars."

"That they are." Hikaru nods. "Someday…"

"Someday," Pavel agrees and it's kind of sweet.

"So, what do you do when you're not training?" Hikaru asks, deftly steering the car away. He knows this drive well. It's a bit of a haul and probably too pricy, but he's spent all of his life in San Francisco and he doesn't want to move away.

"I read - Russian books, but I try to read English now. And I play video games. I am very good at video games."

Hikaru laughs. "What do you play?"

"Ah…FIFA yes, of course, and I am liking Resident Evil, and Call of Duty very much. I can play Russian in Call of Duty. And Mario!" Pavel laughs again. "I am much liking Super Mario Galaxy. I hear they are making a sequel? I am excited for that."

"Yeah, I heard that too."

"I like the…creative ones. Bright colors and things. You know, right?"

"Like Katamari?"

"Yes! And I have not much time for going out, and my coach never liked, so lots of video games." Pavel shrugs. "Is good, though."

"No Moscow nightclubs?" Hikaru teases.

"No." Pavel laughs. "Maybe London ones, yes? My teammates, they all go out everywhere, they say they know all the good ones. I think, oh, I am not much of a dancer." He wrinkles his nose. "They will laugh at me."

"You can always just sprawl out and look cool." Hikaru suggests, and then laughs as Pavel attempts a cool pose. "Yes, like that."

"I am the hit of Whisky Mist!" Pavel crows.

"Yeah, totally." Hikaru grins. His first encounter with a superstar of his profession is a lot different than he expected it to be. A goofy Russian kid talking about video games and pulling faces isn't exactly the sort of thing you see in the tabloids, but he likes it much more. "The girls will be all over you."

Pavel twitters nervously and looks out the window. "So you live in San Francisco?"

"All my life." The fans like him for that; Hikaru can't help but be pleased with it. There's something special about being a local boy.

"That is cool," Pavel says enviously. "I have never been before. Never to America. I wish I had more time to see sights but they think I get lost if I go out." He makes a face as he stares out the window. "They will take us out to see bridge but I do not want just to see a bridge."

"You need a guide?" Hikaru offers with the same sort of impulsiveness that had him driving to San Francisco with a teen prodigy in the passenger seat.

"Would you?"

"If it's okay with your guys…"

"Let me call!" He flicks his fingers across a gleaming cellphone and speaks in rapid Russian across the line. He looks pleased at the reaction from his minder. "You must talk," he says, handing him the expensive device. "Tell him you are real."

Hikaru assures the minder – some functionary or another, because of course Pavel would have someone to watch over him – that he is the Hikaru Sulu on the roster of the American team they'll have to be nice to for a few hours, he is perfectly willing to show Pavel around the city, and he'd have him back at the hotel at exactly nine. Which he would. He didn't sound like the sort of guy Hikaru wanted to cross.

That's how Hikaru ends up driving around San Francisco with a Russian football prodigy. It's impromptu and Hikaru has no plan. He normally likes to have a plan, but he's a native son and he knows the city well. He knows enough to impress a teenager who hasn't spent much time out of Russia. He shows him his favorite views, his favorite coffee shop, a restaurant that he likes (and can afford).

Pavel is delighted. He talks nonstop, chatters about football and life and sights and looks on in wide-eyed delight at everything Hikaru tells him. Hikaru finds himself talking more, gesturing a little more often, grinning more to get a smile back from Pavel. He wants to impress him Not because he's Pavel Chekov and he's the future of football, but because he's got this smile which lights up his face and curly hair and a charming, musical laugh. He's the kind of boy that Hikaru could drive himself crazy over, if he gave himself half a chance.

He drives up to the Intercontinental at 8:55 trying not to think about his little car standing out in this driveway. He sighs. "We're here."

"Come up with me?" Pavel asks, grinning just a little, hopeful. "It's still so early…"

Hikaru knows he shouldn't. "Sure." The brilliant smile of Pavel's is worth it.

He feels as incongruous as he did driving up walking through this hallway in his jeans and scuffed Converse. Pavel has his head high though, and Hikaru follows him. He imagines that this must be what it's like to be a star.

"Wait in here," Pavel says as he opens the hotel room. "I am checking in. Pick out a game or film or something, da?"

Hikaru slips into the room and turns on the light. The room is nice and Pavel clearly doesn't have to share it. His things mostly spill out from an open suitcase on the floor. The Playstation sits, already hooked up. Hikaru unties his shoes and sits on the bed.

He could get used to this: the bed, the gleaming fixtures, the soft blue light of the alarm clock. He doesn't do this for the trappings, but it's hard not to have them in the back of his head. He laughs against the blanket and turns over, looking at the stack of games on the nightstand. FIFA is in English – that'll do.

Pavel bounces in with a grin and lands on the bed next to Hikaru. "Everything is good. Want to play?"

"Sure," he says, handing the game over.

It's a surprisingly equal game even though Hikaru insists on playing as the Earthquakes, just because. It's still him who's crowing at the end of it.

Pavel throws the controller down at the foot of the bed, but he smiles at Hikaru. "Arsehole."

"Didn't think Americans could play?"

"Fine, you have…skills, yes?"

"Yeah, skills." Hikaru laughs, propping himself up on his elbows. "That's what I've got."

"Skills." Pavel pronounces and it's so entertaining and brilliant that Hikaru has to laugh again, looking over at Pavel with a goofy smile. "What?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Hikaru picks up his controller. "Want to go again? I'll let you play as-"

That's when Pavel kisses him, fingertips light against his cheek, and Hikaru is startled enough to drop his elbows and fall to the bed. Pavel sprawls across him for just a moment before pushing away, muttering something in Russian that Hikaru can't catch. His eyes are hooded, upset, and Hikaru grabs his arm. "Wait."

"Why?" Pavel asks ruefully. "I am sorry, I need to learn-"

Hikaru kisses him then, still clutching his upper arm, pushing himself up again to get a better angle. God, this is a terrible idea, but Pavel started it, and he has those curls and those eyes and there's the way his breath hitches as they kiss. It's a terrible idea, but it's Pavel's and he seems pretty smart.

Pavel straddles his hips, kissing Hikaru eagerly, his hand attempting to find a grip in the short, sleek strands of Hikaru's hair. Hikaru slides his fingers underneath Pavel's waistband, gripping his slender hip, rocking against him. Pavel's kisses slow down to match his rhythm. The deliberate grind of Pavel's ass against his cock makes him groan.

Pavel's still moving his hips when he pulls back, panting heavily, eyes hooded and only a little nervous as he puts his hands on the edges of his T-shirt. Hikaru nods and Pavel pulls it off, tossing it absently to the foot of the bed. Pavel is skinny, wiry, without an ounce of extra fat, all cream skin stretched tight over slender muscles. He is beautiful. Hikaru stares.

"What?" Pavel huffs, slightly self-conscious.

"You're beautiful," Hikaru murmurs, his voice rough as he traces the ridges of his abdomen. "Really fucking beautiful."

Pavel laughs at that, warm and sweet, catching Hikaru's hand and kissing the fingertips. "You are flattering."

"Aww, you-" Hikaru starts to say, only to find his breath cut off as Pavel sucks his finger into his mouth. "Fuck."

Pavel lets the finger slip out of his mouth and grins devilishly before ducking down to relieve Hikaru of his shirt. He tosses it away with a flourish, looking delighted at Hikaru's revealed chest. "You are the beautiful," he says, dropping a little kiss to the center of his collarbone.

Hikaru doesn't respond, because Pavel is licking down his chest, teasing with a pink tongue and bright blue eyes. His tongue darts across each ridge of Hikaru's abs and circles around his bellybutton, lapping at it for just long enough to make Hikaru whimper.

Pavel smirks as he unbuttons Hikaru's jeans, meeting no resistance as he pulls them down and away. Hikaru props himself up on his elbows as Pavel sucks a mark into his hip, needing to see him. His curls glint in the light and Hikaru feels lightheaded.

Pavel raises his head just slightly and flashes Hikaru a bright grin, locking his eyes with their eyes before dropping down. Hikaru's cock is proudly flushed, red and straining forward, and Pavel licks deliberately around the head with a little noise that makes Hikaru whimper.

Pleased by that reaction, Pavel lowers his head, swirling his tongue down Hikaru's cock with a deliberateness that makes Hikaru gasp and groan. Hikaru can't remember the last time he wanted anything this much; he's sure he's never been so hard. Pavel wraps his lips around Hikaru's cock and Hikaru is sure that the noise he just made is incredibly embarrassing, but Pavel is fucking incredible at this. The heat of his mouth, his rhythm, the way he changes up his speed and his noises. Fuck, his noises.

Hikaru slides his hand into Pavel's hair, letting those curls, those damn curls, wrap around his fingers as Pavel does amazing things to his cock. He's swallowing around the head, eyes closed, and Hikaru gasps, tilts his head back and comes hard.

Pavel looks pleased with himself when Hikaru opens his eyes, kneeling between Hikaru's legs. "You look very beautiful."

"You…" Hikaru gasps, sliding his hand back into Pavel's hair.

"Mmm," Pavel agrees, licking his lips, lowering his eyes at Hikaru. "Yes?"

Hikaru flips him over, tugging away his club-branded tracksuit bottoms and underwear, gratified by the way Pavel's eyes go wide. Despite his smirking, it takes all of ten seconds for Pavel to start pleading, tilting his hips up. He gasps as Hikaru sucks him down hard, pinning his hips down. He knew Pavel was close but it feels like only seconds before Pavel is coming. Hikaru hopes that the hotel is built well enough to keep Pavel's teammates from hearing what was going on.

Swallowing, Hikaru pushes himself back up next to Pavel, head on the pillows. "Where did you learn that?" he asks, still working on catching his breath.

"Anatoly Fyodorovich," Pavel says with a giggle, tracing abstract designs in Hikaru's chest. "Roomate at Dinamo academy. Is today at Khimki. What about you?"

"College. Ah, university, guess you'd say," Hikaru says ruefully.

"You went to university?"

"Well, only for, like, two years before I was drafted."

"Drafted?" Pavel props his arms up on Hikaru's chest, looking at him quizzically.

"Yeah, it's…all the teams in the league pick players who enter the draft, worst team picking first, unless there's a new one. I was at school two years in Santa Barbara, and then I went into the draft and went to San Jose."

"That's nice," Pavel sighs. "I go to Moscow from Dynamo St. Petersburg when I was 14. Had some schooling, yes, good English lessons, but…is mostly football. I try. I get tutor, but…someday I would like to go to university, yes. Study physics. What did you study?"

"Oh, nothing really," Hikaru mumbles. "Was mostly focused on soccer, y'know? Took a bunch of random classes, didn't declare a major. I liked botany, I guess."

Pavel laughs. 'You would have liked academy. I was the only one who wanted to have lessons."

"Oh yeah." Now it's Hikaru's turn to sound wistful. "I think about that sometimes. You guys, you're doing this all the time from, like, nine years old. You're learning from real coaches, you're breathing this stuff. I went to this youth tournament when I was 14 and talked to some of the kids there. It just sounded unreal. Here…I don't know. It's not the same."

"But you play as children, yes?"

"Yeah, of course. It just doesn't seem so serious. I mean…you've been a professional for a while, when I was your age I was still living at home, dealing with high school, all this stuff, when I could have just been doing soccer."

"I have not thought it that way," Pavel muses. "Is just…natural."

"Same here." Hikaru grins and runs his fingers through the disheveled curls of Pavel's hair. "That's just how sports work here. Although maybe it'd be different if I played a normal one."

Pavel sighs softly, shutting his eyes against Hikaru's chest. "You must love football."

"Hmm?"

"When there is so much else, when it's not the major thing, and yet you're still only about football. You must love it very much to keep doing it."

"Yeah, I guess I do." Hikaru thinks of the ball at his feet. He thinks of the moment of scoring a goal. There is nothing else in the world like that. "I don't want anything else in life, really."

"You should come to England." Pavel yawns, adjusting his positioning, making himself comfortable across Hikaru.

"God, if I could only…"

"You can." Pavel yawns again. "Of course you can. Make it happen, yes?"

* * * * *

Pavel wakes Hikaru up early with a nuzzle, the morning still streaked with darkness. It's far too soon but Hikaru doesn't really mind as Pavel pulls him into the shower, soaps him down with more kisses and touches than are strictly necessary to get clean. They're laughing when they leave, and it takes all of Hikaru's willpower to put on his clothes again.

"I'll see you tonight, right?" he says, stroking Pavel's face by the door.

"Of course." Pavel grins, showing off his cheekbones. "But, Hikaru, we will be opponents. I will have to be mean."

"Yeah, totally." Hikaru kisses him, sliding his hands through those curls again. "But after, yeah?"

"We will be friends again." Pavel laughs and opens the door, pushing him through it. "Go, go, they wake soon."

Hikaru sneaks down the hallway, quiet as possible, then out to the lobby and to the valet. It's not even eight AM. He laughs as he climbs into his car, finally driving home. It's completely insane and Hikaru is giddy.

He changes his clothes when he gets back to his apartment, brushes his teeth and washes his face. There's a small bruise on his hip, barely visible, but it's a record that this all actually happened; that this wasn't some kind of weird hallucination. He doesn't have any pictures, no recordings, just that bruise and the memory.

He doesn't know how he's supposed to play him later. He's glad that it's just a friendly and essentially meaningless. True, he'd been looking forward to it for weeks. He'd been so eager to get the chance to play against an actual elite team, but that all seemed to pale under the glow of Pavel. It was silly, it was stupid, it was remarkably dangerous.

Hikaru found it really hard to care. Becoming a footballer was a risk, too, and it'd been worth it.

* * * *

Candlestick is much bigger than the rickety park that's their (hopefully) temporary home. It's immense and loud and filled with blue, although Hikaru knows it's not his blue.

He thinks about the coach's talk. He tries not to be intimidated like he was instructed. He tugs on his shirt and looks at the stands. If just a third of these people were willing to drive out to see them on a regular basis. If only he could do anything tonight to convince them. They're here to see big stars; no Americans are big stars.

Hikaru glances at the line of Chelsea players across from him. Some of them twist their heads about, some look bored. They look strong as a group in their bright blue tops. He catches a glimpse of Pavel and smiles, rewarded with a small one from him before he faces forwards again.

They're both starting. For Hikaru, it's a privilege. He doesn't know what it means for Pavel. He is excited to play against him, to see what he can really do on a pitch and not a Youtube window, but he's not sure how he's not going to be distracted by him.

They play the American national anthem, then English one; and then it's time to start. Hikaru looks out across the grass toward that famous blue line. He spots Pavel. He looks like someone else entirely, older and stronger, more focused in his crisp uniform. Hikaru rotates his neck and kicks off.

Men against boys is the cliché in commentary and it may describe the play, but it doesn't entirely fit. Pavel is more of a boy than anyone on the field, but he's running circles around most of it. The midfield can't keep up with him, the defense loses him at each turn, and Hikaru finds himself in his own half more often than not, helping to defend, for all the good it does anyone. (Not that their defense is normally all that great. They're great guys, but Hikaru will admit to that.)

They're two goals down before the game has passed half an hour. The first off a corner, which always sucks, and the second, of course, a beautiful individual effort from Pavel, jinking around Hikaru's teammates like they were training cones. It's hard not to admire that kind of skill even though they're playing against each other. He knew that Pavel was supposed to be good, but seeing it in person is much more sobering.

He's better than good; he's worth every cent of that ridiculous transfer fee, the sort of player that Hikaru knew existed but rarely got to see in person. Hikaru does his best, works hard, knows he has some skill, but he knows he'll never be like that. There's a level of talent that Hikaru knows he'll never reach and watching Pavel just reminds him of how far away he is from where he wants to be.

He can't dwell on it now, though. Not in the middle of the game, not when there are five minutes left in the half and a whole other half to play after that. He snorts and spits onto the ground and watches as a goal kick arches through the air.

It's just enough. It's just enough for him to reach the damn ball before the right-back (Hikaru's forgotten his name) and power past him, race faster than he's supposed to be as just an American striker, and firing a shot that sends Cech sprawling. And missing.

Hikaru laughs, raising his hands as his teammates race to him. They're still losing and he shouldn't be happy about that, but he's scored against a mostly full strength Chelsea. He hugs his boys, grinning up towards the crowd and the light. He sees Pavel across the pitch. The Russian looks unreadable.

The team claps him on the back in the dressing room. They're pumped, convinced they could get something out of this game. It's enough to Hikaru that he scored a goal today, and that Pavel saw it.

He doesn't play much in the second half, coming off to polite applause before the clock ticks to an hour. They have a real game on Sunday and the coach doesn't want Hikaru injured, which makes him buzz with delight. They may still be losing – it's 3-1 now – but he's accomplished what he wanted. He's not sure if that makes him a bad person or not.

He looks towards the Chelsea bench. Pavel was taken off at the half. Hikaru catches a glimpse of him in his track jacket, but he can't tell if Pavel can see him or not. He's having trouble focusing on the rest of the game, trying to think of what Pavel is thinking.

Pavel, he's sure, is far too good for him. He's a superstar in the making and Hikaru might, if he works hard and is lucky, be a decent striker for a team with European aspirations. He's good with his head. He looks at the bench. Pavel is still looking straight ahead.

Hikaru sighs and sucks on his water.

The game ends at 4-1. The crowd looks pleased and Hikaru hopes that's good enough. He's not sure they've done enough to convince any of them out to Santa Clara, but they didn't embarrass themselves entirely. His teammates swarm for shirts to hang on their walls. It's only a little embarrassing. Their coach said that Chelsea were just players like every other, but there was a difference. There will always be a difference.

A head of curls distracts him. Pavel's hanging a little bit away from the group, blinking as the flashbulbs go off. His eyes raise to Hikaru and he inclines his head, towards the tunnel. Hikaru looks around. No one should notice them disappearing.

"I saved this for you," Pavel holds out his shirt as Hikaru shuts the door of the conference room behind them. "For remembering me."

Pavel is grinning like he was yesterday. Hikaru takes the jersey. It's still a little damp. "Like I'd forget." He laughs self-consciously, and then pulls off his own jersey. "Um."

"Thank you," Pavel says seriously, taking it out of his hands.

"It's not as fancy as the ones you'll get later."

"Does not matter." Pavel beams again. "Is yours, that is enough."

"You don't mean that," Hikaru says with an embarrassed smile.

"Nyet, of course I do." Pavel pokes Hikaru in the stomach.

"You'll go off to England and win the Champions League and forget all about me," Hikaru says ruefully, trying to sound light-hearted about it all.

"Never. I have your kit, yes?" Pavel holds up the jersey. "Is special. And I have email, phone, X-Box, all of that." He grins, tossing the jersey over his shoulder. "We play FIFA when I get back to London. And then you come to England."

"Pavel…" Hikaru ducks his head, embarrassed. "I'd like to go to England, but I don't know…"

"Bah." Pavel waves his hand. "You took a good goal. You hold up the ball well. Is good for the English game, many long balls. Your goal record here is good, yes? Someone will need you." He breaks out into a grin again. "Lots of teams in London."

"You think so?" Hikaru fingers the slick fabric of Pavel's jersey.

"I do not flatter when I talk football. You will come."

Hikaru laughs shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"And I will wait for you." Pavel winds his arms around Hikaru's neck and kisses him. "You will find me."

"Pavel," Hikaru breathes. It's stupid. He's known Pavel for maybe 24 hours. He shouldn't be so flattered by that. He shouldn't be imaging what it will be like when he gets to England. Logically, yes, Pavel is not really going to wait for him. There's a world of more fascinating people out there. But Hikaru is seeing it anyway. "You don't have to-"

"Quiet." Pavel ruffles Hikaru's sweaty hair. "I make choices for me."

"Okay. Then, yeah, I'll wait for you too." Hikaru smiles, tracing his thumbs over Pavel's jaw. "Until I get to England."

Pavel kisses him again, slowly, and pulls back reluctantly. "Soon, Hikaru."

"Yes." Hikaru grins, bright with promise and hope and the belief that this will work. He's a romantic. It's hard to afford to be in this life, but with Pavel in front of him he can't not think that this will work. "Soon."


End file.
